


Lords of the Hunt

by seidrade



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol-Enabled Discussion of Feelings, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Begging, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), First Time, Fun Times in Bathtubs, M/M, Mild Domination, One explicit flashback set in their late teens featuring two original female characters, Passing references to former Thor/Fandral Thor/Sif and Loki/Fandral, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest, lightning play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seidrade/pseuds/seidrade
Summary: Loki's attempt to get drunk and enjoy a long-overdue bubblebath aboard The Statesman is soon thwarted by Thor, who leads him through a series of youthful reminiscences that Loki would vastly prefer remain buried.The result is an increasingly fraught conversation about where they stand, now that everything and everyone who once defined them is gone-- and perhaps a chance for Thor to finally get something off his chest.





	Lords of the Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/gifts).



> For the prompt “you’re a fucking asshole” from the wonderful ravenbringslight, whose work has brought me so much joy. I began this back in January 2018-- it was both the first MCU and first Thorki fic I actually completed. It was posted to Tumblr several months back, though I've edited it quite a bit from the original version in preparation for sharing it here. All mistakes are mine.

xx

The ship is crowded. Very crowded. And even though the lingering sense of mourning means that the remaining Asgardians, at least, are somber in their volume, the noise of so many bodies in one large, echoing metal coffin still puts a ringing in Loki’s ears. Everything feels too close. Too hot. Generally uncomfortable for one fond of his personal space, and especially for one made tense and claustrophobic at the thought of cages-- although the dark, boundless void beyond the reinforced glass is certainly worse.

He grouses over his own stupidity in having allowed himself to persuaded to give up his private quarters. One Asgardian woman had gone into early labor this morning, and another was due to give birth any day now. 

As the Norns would have it, there was one healer left amongst the survivors. And she wasn’t entirely alone. On the second day, the Valkyrie had taken it upon herself to raid the vast liquor cabinets and managed to concoct a potion so strong as to lull the Hulk into a near-coma... and, with a significant amount of Loki’s help, leave a sleeping Bruce Banner in his place. 

The joke was soon on Loki, as that made for two aggravating, well-meaning doctors insisting that his room was best equipped for birthing, it being far away from the common areas and already outfitted with a wet bar--thus, a sink-- and a large bath. Loki knew all this already, having chosen it for those precise advantages. 

And now he traverses the corridors like a sweating wraith, grumbling internally as he makes his way to Thor’s chambers, where he is now bunking. How the mighty king of Asgard has fallen. 

It still rings darkly humorous that of all three so-called children of Odin, the frost giant foundling should have sat upon the throne for the longest, and on two separate occasions. In one case, even legitimately...

Loki finally shuffles into Thor’s chambers, sealing the door with a lazy wave as he begins to peel off his tunic, before growing frustrated and banishing his clothing entirely. He’s been attempting to conserve his energy as of late— especially after he drained _himself_ nearly into a faint putting Banner back together— but right now he’s in too much of a mood to care about being sensible. 

Thor will still be at the strategy meeting with Heimdall and that blue idiot Korg for some time, and so Loki feels free to luxuriate in his nudity, the slightly cooler air of Thor’s chambers a balm to his humid skin.

Curse this rancid ship. He shouldn’t have returned. Should have watched Surtur’s fire burn from a safe distance away. Vanaheim, perhaps. And Alfheim is always lovely this time of year. (Not that anywhere was truly safe, now. He’d all but ensured that.)

The one saving grace is that Thor’s room, being a master suite, also has a bath— one large enough for at least five broad Asgardians, set into the floor and surrounded by gaudy red tile. There’s all sorts of jets, strange knobs, and dispensers which secrete various suggestive substances, as well as a bizarrely phallic golden faucet— because _of course_ there is. 

Loki muses for a moment, then gives in and decides to run himself a bath. It would normally be an obscene luxury aboard a spacecraft— which wouldn’t have stopped him, of course— but he happens to know that for all their ineptitude in other areas, the Sakaaran recapture and filtration systems are so advanced that _not_ taking advantage of them seems the greater waste. 

He sprawls on the cool tile, sighing in relief at the sensation. Then considers the jets and knobs, labeled in the Sakaaran visual shorthand he finds reminiscent of his runic studies and oddly charming, for all their crudeness— and for all that he has no desire to ever return to that miserable place. 

Loki turns on the tap and the water gurgles and sputters in the pipes before cascading into the basin. An experimental press of an ambiguously-labeled knob adds a rainbow iridescent sheen to the surface of the rising water. Another blows a torrent of lime green bubbles from what he’d assumed was a drainage gap, before he manages to switch it off. Loki almost rolls his eyes, but even the unwelcome reminder of the Grandmaster’s flair for the dramatic can’t lessen his enthusiasm for a bath. More specifically, a _private_ bath.

Loki gestures and the lights dim to a more relaxing level, a low golden haze settling over the room. He sighs, and it sounds heavier than he expects.

In truth, he feels worn. Haggard. Far older than he should. The last few weeks alone would have been more than enough to put a damper on his spirits, nevermind the last decade.

Asgard is well and truly gone— the Realm Eternal melted down into slag, reduced to char and dust. Essentially by his own hand, at that. It still hasn’t quite sunk in— despite the sharp reminder he gets every time he sees Thor’s blind side. Every time he remembers _why_ he’s here on the Statesman.

He’s always enjoyed causing chaos, or else using it to his advantage— priding himself on adapting to its capricious whims. But in truth, he doesn’t like being a helpless plaything any more than the next man, and chaos has turned viciously on him as of late. Leaving him with a nauseous ache of loss, a sense of regret that has yet to ease. With pain that mounts ever higher and precious little to ease it.

In his younger days, Loki thought that he and chaos had come to a sort of mutual understanding-- even something of a partnership. More fool, him.

As he lazes on the tile, idly stroking a finger through the rising, glimmering water, Loki’s gaze drifts over to the stash of liquor on the glass shelving. If alcohol could power a ship, they’d easily make it to Midgard without stopping. But as it stands, all the hideously bright bottles are simply taking up space, just another reminder of his more sordid evenings on Sakaar.

Loki grimaces, stands up and meanders over to the wall. He and Thor had put a respectable dent in the supply in these chambers two nights ago, growing maudlin and tearful as they managed to grieve together, little by little, reopening a few old wounds in the process. It’s probably good, even necessary, if they are to try and salvage what bond they have left, and Loki thinks they both took some comfort from it— but it hadn’t necessarily been pleasant, nor does he want a repeat anytime soon. He still feels a bit uneasy at revealing any sort of honest sentiment over their losses, even to Thor— especially to Thor. 

Nor does he know what to make of their situation. 

Bitterness and weakness still have a chokehold on his heart; despite his many efforts to simply stop caring, he still longs like an idiot child for Thor’s approval. And it hurts, physically _hurts_ , to feel such closeness to Thor again. Now that he’s back, Loki can almost admit to himself how much he missed the witless oaf. How alone he’d been these last few years, wearing Odin’s skin with nothing but his cacophonous, cyclical thoughts for company. 

What does that say about him-- longing for the company of his tormentor, his better in every way according to the view of the wider universe-- when he still arguably, justifiably resents and envies Thor for reasons both petty and large enough to block out a sun. They made something that others might call ‘progress’ the other night, but Loki knows it’s a mere drop in the ocean between them. 

Their reunion has certainly served as a reminder of Thor’s accidental callousness; his knowing judgment and oblivious cruelty that seem aimed equally at Loki’s heart. The casual ease with which he wields all the power and glory and affection that Loki could never manage to inspire in others. And he’s coming to realize that Thor may never truly understand… well, much of anything inside his heart. What broke him in the first place and has continued to splinter him apart ever since.

Despite these many frustrations, the most irritating of all is that Loki knows how little of Thor’s love he realistically deserves. For as numerous as Thor’s faults may be, Loki’s are ever greater. And there is no denying Thor’s greatness. His true _worthiness_. His honor and sense of duty and dogged loyalty, his magnanimous nature, his prowess as a warrior and leader, his protective streak and his love of his friends, his undying protection of those he has deemed precious to him. His charisma and easy humor, his inability to surrender hope. He shines as if lit from within by a blazing star and one cannot help but fall into orbit. 

No, Loki for all his grievances deserves nothing of Thor’s magnanimity. How can he of all people look upon his golden brother and demand more of him-- as if Thor weren’t good enough-- when Loki himself is so lacking?

Though he has tried to prove himself worthy time and time again, experience has shown him that one does not truly change one’s stripes. Not even a shapeshifter. He will always manage to poison the well.

_Speaking of poison. Weren’t we going to distract ourselves?_

Loki snaps back from his unpleasant reverie-- plucks a bottle from the shelf and opens it, takes a whiff. The strong odour of something like anise assaults his senses. Thank you, no. The next one is entirely too sweet and fruity, and so on. Eventually, Loki finds one that doesn’t smell like too much of a bad decision— which means it’s likely to give him the worst hangover of all— and brings the bottle with him as he slips into the now quite-full bath, a sigh escaping him as he sinks into the water. Being warm and submerged is far more tolerable to his senses than standing hot and sticky in his leathers.

He turns on the jets in the tub and listens to their soft burbling, feels the water tickle and eddy about his buttocks and thighs as he takes the first swig from the bottle— the flavour is decent, whatever it is. Not too dry, not too sweet, a bit herbal and citrusy. Loki takes another long swig, examining the label. It’s some odd made-up name that the Allspeak doesn’t provide a translation for, but Loki figures it might actually get him drunk if he downs the whole thing. Sakaaran liquor isn’t generally as strong as the Asgardian or Vanir stuff he’s used to-- perhaps partly why the Valkyrie seems never to stop drinking-- but if one can stomach the taste, it does the trick a damn sight better than the Midgardian equivalent.

Loki languishes in the bath, idly sipping from the bottle, trying in vain to keep his mind from dwelling on anything of too much importance. The peace doesn’t last long, however, because barely five minutes have gone by before Thor is striding into the room, acting as if he doesn’t notice Loki. As per usual.

After watching Thor pace aimlessly about for a moment, vexation clear upon his clouded face when the edge of a low-lying table catches the shin on his blind side, Loki delicately clears his throat. “You’re really ruining the ambiance, brother.”

Thor gives a start— even with the humidity in the air and the gentle noise of the bath, he truly hadn’t noticed he was not alone. Unusual, even for him.

“Ah. Forgive me, Loki. I’m… distracted by too many tasks, too many things cluttering my mind. I’ll leave you,” he starts, but Loki waves a dismissive hand, scattering droplets on the tile. He oddly finds himself craving Thor’s presence.

“Don’t be absurd, you have nowhere else to be. You may as well keep me company.” Loki jiggles the bottle at him. “This one’s all mine, but there are plenty more horrendous choices on the shelf, as you well know.”

Thor tilts his shorn head, presses his lips together in some sort of internal debate before laughing under his breath. “Ah, you’re probably right. I’m going mad with too many things to think about and nothing to actually do.”

Too many things to avoid thinking about, Loki reflects. “You can even join me, if you like,” he offers, feeling oddly generous. “This tub is almost as big as the hot spring pools we used to visit on Vanaheim.”

Thor raises his brows, a fond surprised smile chasing a little more of the gloom from his face. “I’d all but forgotten about that,” he remarks as he divests himself of his gauntlets, then undoes a few straps and pulls his armoured tunic over his head. “We really did have the best summers there, practically lived in those springs.” 

Loki’s eyes are caught on Thor’s broad, bare chest. He wrests them free-- only for them to attempt to trail down Thor’s stomach. He suddenly remembers hiding in the sulfurous water, trying to keep himself covered while Thor and Fandral splashed and horsed around, perfectly at ease in their golden, athletic, naked bodies. Sitting in near-silence with Hogun— whom he’d only met recently, that first summer— while Thor and Fandral wandered off for increasing lengths of time.

Loki had no doubts even then what they were up to. The following couple summers had been much the same, until Thor was momentarily distracted by a Vanir princess and Fandral had taken to pursuing Loki instead, for a time. Oh, what times, indeed... 

A melancholy grips him then. A sudden mourning-- not just for foolish, charming Fandral, or even for straight-faced Hogun, but for his and Thor’s youth. It seems so unimaginably far away now; an aching hole in his chest where some idea of home used to live, however false it may have been.

When Loki looks up again, trying to wrest himself free from his mood, Thor is nude with his back to him, examining the contents of the liquor wall. 

Loki again finds his eyes drifting places they shouldn’t, shakes himself. He’s not sure what seems more strange— looking, or being so concerned that he’s looking. 

It reminds him uncomfortably of the confusion of his youth— that handful of decades where he’d wondered, even before he’d learned the truth of his unfortunate origins, if perhaps there hadn’t been some _mistake_. For how else to explain his curiosity, his bizarre yearnings… 

Get a grip on yourself, Loki thinks, uncharitably. Not a good look, eyeing up your own brother.

 _Not really your brother_ , a strange little thought whispers. _Never was_. Loki quiets it with a frown, taking a hefty swig from his bottle. 

The sound of clinking glass catches his attention. He glances up to see Thor walking over, two colourful vessels in each broad hand. Loki forces himself not to look too closely at the anatomy below Thor’s defined abdominals, a strange flush rising to his face. It’s been many decades since he and Thor were close enough to swim or bathe together. He tries to force down other unbidden memories of the foolish urges of his youth, but is only half successful. 

How is it he can remain poised and stoic in the face of certain death, yet in the vicinity of Thor’s nudity he is rendered a flustered, defenseless fool.

“The hot water must be doing you some good,” Thor teases, coming to sit at the edge of the tub so he can dip his feet and calves into the bubbling water, leaving himself charmingly exposed in typical, unconcerned Thor fashion. Some things truly would never change, a fact Loki found somewhat amusing in concept and incredibly disconcerting in practice. “I haven’t seen your face this bright and pink since we played bottle-spin with the girls from the Alfheim delegation.”

Loki is instantly bombarded with a tangle of adolescent images— Thor goading him on, getting him to finish the bottle of wine. Yes, and the girls… Thor had been very taken with the two slim, pale daughters of one of the ambassadors of Alfheim. Not his usual buxom, rosy cheeked taste, but Loki had chalked it up to their being twins.

“Ahh, yes,” he seizes on the distraction from Thor’s nudity, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. “What were their names…”

“You’d stand a better chance of recalling than I,” Thor takes a swig from one of his bottles, grimaces at the taste, gamely takes a long swallow. Loki can smell how sweet it is. “I was drunk on Ljósalfaran wine for most of that week.”

Thor is slightly exaggerating, of course. It was but one evening. The two princes been tasked with accompanying the young ladies on an assortment of courtly outings, but towards the end of the week, Thor had used his infamous charisma to convince their chaperone to take a night off. 

They had all ended up in Loki’s rooms, getting horribly drunk and playing bottle-spin— which was rather silly under the circumstances, being two sets of siblings, but Thor had been very insistent and the girls seemed equally keen.

What had followed was no insubstantial amount of inebriated laughter and self-conscious brushes of lips— the flow of the game being continually interrupted whenever the bottle made an inappropriate selection and had to be spun again. Oddly enough, kissing the girls hadn’t fazed him too much, but Loki’s heart had pounded strangely in his throat every time the bottle drew an insinuating line between him and Thor-- his impossible brother just wiggling his brows or winking at him in response before the bottle was spun again.

It was true that a queer, poisonous curiosity had taken root in Loki’s young mind some time before, but it wasn’t until that fateful night that it had truly begun to unfurl its leaves and bear fruit. He’d suddenly wondered what it would be like to feel Thor’s plush lips pressed against his mouth— to feel Thor’s recently grown beard against his own smooth cheeks. Not understanding where those thoughts had come from, but uneasy and slightly aroused by how terribly wrong they seemed; alarmed by how greatly he desired.

And then Thor had suddenly announced he wanted to see the girls kiss each other. 

Which the daughters of Alfheim had cannily agreed to, if only the sons of Asgard went before.

Well. Loki had staunchly refused, feeling the cold hand of panic clench around his stomach, but Thor groaned and called him a spoilsport— and between him and his wily accomplices, Loki had eventually been plied by that heady Ljósalfaran fortified wine, the two girls sweetening the deal by caressing Loki’s chest, his thighs, his neck with teasing hands and whispers of kisses. Thor had tilted the bottle into Loki’s mouth, gaze so intent upon him that Loki had to shut his eyes as he drank it all down, feeling a rivulet escape down his chin, the flush in his cheeks spreading all through his body.

He remembers Thor leaning towards him, a feverish glint in his glazed eyes, and then with a burning face, allowing Thor to pull him into a kiss that wasn’t nearly as drunken and sloppy as he’d expected— actually rather good. (Kind of explained the sway he held over the girls, honestly.)

It only lasted a handful of seconds, but Loki’s head had spun wildly, and then the girls had squealed and cajoled and asked for more, and so Thor had turned back to Loki with a loose shrug and his usual hapless, charming grin; slid his hand to the back of Loki’s neck and gave him what turned out to be the most deeply thorough, enthusiastic— one could even say erotic— tonguing he’d received thus far in his fairly young life. A kiss that put even Fandral’s previous efforts to shame.

He didn’t think Thor had noticed, but Loki had gotten so unbelievably hard from feeling Thor’s sweet, wine-flavoured tongue sliding against his own— from Thor’s hot hands gripping his shoulder and cradling the back of his head— from the smooth caress of his facial hair against the corners of Loki’s mouth, the warmth and smell and feel even better than he’d dared to imagine— that he’d suddenly panicked and pushed Thor off and punched him in the arm, trying to cover his nerves with laughter and taunts while the girls collapsed into torrents of scandalized squeals.

Taking shelter beneath his weak façade, Loki had realized he no longer had any desire to continue with the evening’s games; the strange flare of lust was tempered by a cold reality setting in. His dangerous curiosity had only been provoked, and he now feared it wouldn’t be sated. Would instead be discovered, and his madness for his brother exposed.

But the night continued heedless of Loki’s inner turmoil— the girls had eagerly kept up their end of the bargain, eyeing their audience with dark, devious eyes through long waves of pale hair. The revelries soon led to Thor kissing both girls at once, in a rather less-than-courtly fashion, and then onward from there. They tried to get Loki to join in, but he begged off, claiming a sudden headache.

Instead, he watched the fire and tried not to look in envy as Thor’s tawny hands cupped a set of small, pale breasts, running his thumbs over the soft nipples until they formed rosy peaks. 

He nursed a bottle of less potent Asgardian mead pilfered from his own stash and tried to tune out the gasps and sighs coming from the twins as Thor treated them to kisses of an even more lurid variety, his golden head buried between their trembling legs in turns.

He was entirely unsuccessful at ignoring when one of the girls pushed Thor down and straddled his face while her sister unlaced Thor’s straining breeches and took his large, heavy cock into her mouth— Loki’s own mouth going dry at the sight of Thor’s toned ass and hips, twitching with barely-restrained desire as his length slid between those pink lips. 

He realized he was staring and quickly looked away; nonetheless felt a throbbing ache in his groin upon hearing Thor groan against the quim on his tongue. Tried to reassure himself it was completely normal to be aroused by such sights and sounds, regardless of who was making them.

Loki had almost managed to make himself invisible, up until the point that one of the girls grew bored, or perhaps greedy. She crawled over and all but pounced on Loki’s shameful erection and kissed him hard, with what had to be Thor’s heady scent on her lips, the forbidden taste of Thor’s cock on her tongue. At first Loki had kissed her back— oh Norns, he ached so badly but not for her, not for this imposter, it was all wrong— and then with a confused shudder, he had suddenly pushed her away. Undaunted, she tried to kiss him again, and again Loki refused her.

The ensuing conflict created such a fuss that he wound up kicking them out of his rooms, but not before Thor had wrapped him from behind in a hug, meant only in cheerful apology (still naked, still drunk, still hard; Loki had almost cried in frustration to feel Thor’s erection against his arse) and asked him not to tell.

The hangover had been hell, but nothing compared to the lecture they’d gotten the next day from Frigga. Turns out naked Thor wasn’t very good at sneaking.

“Loki?” Thor’s voice interrupts his daydream, brings him with a shock back to the present. 

Loki blinks, turns toward Thor carelessly, and of course his glance lands precisely on Thor’s ever-impressive cock, still resting languidly in its wreath of dark golden curls, framed between muscular thighs. As aggravating as the rest of the man it belongs to.

Loki sighs, now just annoyed with himself, looking away with a shrug. 

“I can’t seem to recall their names,” he demurs truthfully, taking another drink from his bottle, upon whose glassy surface he then catches a reflection of Thor’s cock. He almost laughs in despair; the Norns truly have it in for him.

“It was some time ago,” Thor agrees, taking another drink of his own. “Bor’s blood, we got into some mischief back then.”

Loki can’t help a soft smile at that, ducking his head slightly, watching the water swirl and roil around his chest. “Indeed. And mysteriously, I was always seen as the instigator. If only they’d known what terrible things you put me up to.”

Thor makes a soft pfft of indignation. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t all terrible! You had plenty of fun,” he cajoled, bumping Loki’s shoulder with the bottle in his hand. “Admit it. We were a good team.”

Loki’s face heats again slightly at the reminder of how not entirely terrible certain aspects had been. “Yes, a good team. Or at the very least, a bold leader and a willing stooge.”

He gives Thor a quick, genial smile, showing that he’s just joking, but Thor looks at him seriously. 

“You were never just a stooge,” he insists. “You were an integral part of the operation, always. I would never have gotten with those Alfheim girls if it wasn’t for you.”

And then he winks, and Loki can’t tell whether to be fond or annoyed. He settles for rolling his eyes, which seems to cover both. “Yes, in that case I believe I was more of a prop than a co-conspirator, but I see your point.” He takes a long pull from the bottle, hopes the warmth in his face and chest will be blamed on the liquor hitting his bloodstream.

“No, you weren’t that either,” Thor insists, serious once more, choosing that moment to push his assortment of bottles away from the ledge and lower himself into the bath, crowding into Loki’s space as usual. Loki doesn’t yield— he was here first, damn it.

“I have never thought of you as a prop, Loki.” 

Loki scoffs. “Mjolnir may have seemed essential to you, but at the end of the day, it’s not as if you really needed it. Turns out, you do just fine on your own. Perhaps you would have been better off without it to serve as a crutch. That reminds me, how _did_ you realize you could summon the lightning without it?”

Perhaps it was petty and cruel of him to bring up such a sore spot as a distraction, but unfortunately, Thor doesn’t take the bait. Either he’s losing his touch, or Thor’s becoming more canny.

“What do you mean…” he asks, clearly not in reference to the hammer. “You think now I ought not have involved you in my schemes? You came up with them, half the time! The bottle spin had to have been your idea.”

“As I _vaguely_ recall,” Loki drawls, doing away with indirectness and crossing his arms over his chest, “You had to beg me and couldn’t get a yes out of me until I was well and drunk, then somehow managed to get off with both of the girls while I finished the last bottle of mead on my own and eventually had to kick you out of _my_ rooms. Not your best moment. Truly, why involve me at all? To think I was ever the one accused of charades.”

Thor brings one arm up to the ledge of the tub, extending it in Loki’s direction. “And what, leave you out in the cold only for you to complain of it later?” A tilt of his head. “There were two of them, you could have joined in. One of them even tried to get you to, did she not?”

Loki runs a hand over his hair, shaking his head. Why was he even pursuing this conversation? (Sakaaran liquor, that’s why.) “Ah… forget it, Thor. It’s of no consequence, we were so young. We’ve dwelt on the past overmuch as it is.” He takes a long swallow of that same damnable liquor, needing something to do with his hands.

But Thor is, as ever, like a dog with a bone. “If it’s of no consequence, why does it still bother you?”

Loki lowers the bottle, gives him a disparaging look as he licks the remnants of drink from his lips. “Who said it bothers me?”

Thor flicks water at him with a scoff. “I’m not a complete idiot. You never speak so of the past, not unless you’re bent out of shape over something.”

Loki is affronted. And getting slightly tipsy. “I’m not bent out of shape!” He insists, frowning at how bent out of shape he does indeed sound. “It was just a silly memory from long ago, Thor,” he tries again, less intensely. “Trust me, I could think of far more recent, relevant grudges. Would you like me to compile a list?”

Instead of taking the bait, Thor just tilts his head, hand stroking his beard as if he’s working through something. “So what was it then. Did you not like the girls?”

Loki groans. “Peace, Thor.”

“Just answer the question. Did you like the girls?” 

Loki narrows his eyes. “They were well enough.”

“Then why did you sit out?” Thor questions. “You shouldn’t have been jealous, they were as keen on you as they were on me. Was it something I did?”

Loki’s face betrays him, burning at the question. “The eternal question,” he grumbles, reaching for his bottle. 

Thor catches his wrist. 

“Loki…” Thor looks genuinely troubled, and Loki’s face burns because he sees that Thor has somewhat pieced it together. “We were drunk that night, I assumed you would only take it for fun and games.”

And that, Loki admits to himself, a sickening drop in his stomach, was both a knife in the gut and a blessing. That Thor still didn’t understand where Loki’s envy had been aimed.

For it truly was that fiendish emotion he’d refused to acknowledge that fateful night. Loki has ever wrapped himself in the colour of verdant jealousy, and all who saw him without knowing his heart would assume it was aimed squarely at the favoured son of Asgard— and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. 

Yet Loki’s bitterest envy has always been aimed at those surrounding his brother— the lovers and friends allowed to partake in his golden radiance as Loki never could.

When Thor and Sif briefly entertained what they thought was a secret fling and he had to watch their foolish, coy expressions in the dining hall and at the tavern. 

When he caught Fandral servicing Thor behind a tree on a hunting expedition, Thor’s head thrown back against the trunk as his mouth went slack and his hips stuttered forward into Fandral’s eager mouth. 

When he first laid eyes on Jane and saw how Thor cared for her, looked at her like she was his whole world; this tiny, aggravating, precocious mortal woman he knew next to nothing about. When Loki saw that he would have to protect her life with his own, for it to regain any meaning to Thor.

Thor never thought any of those things would matter to Loki— and why would he? 

“Yes, of course,” Loki makes himself smile, despite the churning in his gut. Despite the deranged longing for Thor to grab his other wrist too. “I know you meant no harm. It was fine.”

 _It was only that you forced me to want you, then abandoned me,_ his traitorous mind offers, unhelpfully. Loki makes himself continue. “As you said, I was simply jealous. That’s all.” It wasn’t even a lie.

“So... you’re not still upset now?” Thor presses, and Loki means to agree, it’s such a simple lie, but he hesitates a heartbeat too long and Thor’s hand on his wrist tightens a fraction. 

“There, see? How can I help what you won’t even admit to?” A crease of worry mars Thor’s perfect golden brow-- and oh, isn’t it such sick satisfaction, putting it there.

Loki just shakes his head, tries to tug his wrist away. “Some things are not meant for you to fix.” 

Thor refuses to relinquish his hold, using his other hand to pluck the bottle from Loki’s grip and set it aside. “Why not?” He challenges.

“That’s not how life works,” Loki counters, gesturing in exasperation with his free hand. “You can’t just beat everything into submission, as I tell you _constantly_.”

“And I hear you,” Thor capitulates, rubbing the heel of Loki’s palm with his thumb. Loki stops short of a sharp reply-- strangely thrown and calmed by the gesture, if not the words. Since when did Thor hear anything he said. 

“Understand something, Loki. I’ve lost nearly everyone, everything, and everywhere that has ever mattered to me in the past week. Except for you.” Thor’s eye seems to seek something in Loki’s face. “I’m tired of chasing you, trying to force you to come back to me. Even if I could make you follow, I don’t _want_ it to work that way…” he trails off, almost helplessly. 

_You want me to come willingly without question or reserve, without making any trouble for you-- is that it, Thor?_

“I’m not going anywhere,” Loki promises, though even as he says it, he wonders if he’s only lying to them both. If it’s only a matter of time.

Thor just looks at him, quiet and considering, but Loki senses he’s about to break the calm. 

“What are we, Loki?” He asks, _non sequitur_. 

When Loki doesn’t immediately respond, not sure where this is going, Thor clarifies. “Now that it’s all gone. Everything that both bound us and drove a wedge between us, all these years— our home, our mother and father, the throne, even the hammer. What then does that make us? Are you still my brother?” His eye grows serious, questioning. “Or are we now something else?”

A strange fear creeps down Loki’s spine, because any answer suddenly seems like a trap, liable to eject him from the cocoon of Thor’s warmth. But Thor’s gaze isn’t cold and cruel— he looks to be searching for something, as if Loki holds the answer to some great riddle.

“Why do you ask,” Loki tries to deflect, hoping more will be revealed if he lets Thor talk. Thor doesn’t look annoyed by this response, just curious. Patient. Loki feels bizarrely out of his depth, the heat from Thor’s hand and the alcohol and the swirling tub water not helping. “What makes you think anything has changed?”

“I don’t know if it’s so simple as I once believed,” Thor muses. “We were raised together, Loki. We played and fought as brothers for centuries.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking contemplative, voice a low comforting rumble. “I didn’t believe it at first, you know… when Father finally told me the truth. But then, it all made sense— it explained why our entire world shifted so suddenly. I was angered I didn’t know what had been unfolding during my exile. That I thought you acted only in jealousy, and hatred for me... and not in heartbreak.” His gaze softens and Loki would be irritated, but it’s not pity Thor offers him— it’s something akin to empathy, which he is most certainly not used to receiving.

Loki says nothing, unsure what to do with this development. Thor’s lips press together for a moment, the silence stretching almost uncomfortably before he pushes on.

“Once you returned to our mother’s sight, I was overjoyed to see you still lived. And so foolish, so _insistent_ that it didn’t mean anything, that nothing had changed— for all it was clear that some great darkness had hold of you, I thought if I could just bring you home, get you away from the influence of that stone, that somehow all would be set to rights.” 

Thor paused, choosing his words, a habit that seemed newly developed. “But I didn’t understand that for you, nothing would ever return to you your former life, as it were,” he continued. “And I’ve come to realize, much too late, I should have embraced you in spite of that.”

“No?” Loki can’t resist the urge to needle. “You’re telling me you’re not afraid to call a frost giant kin? That’s not what it sounded like a minute ago, as you were about to disavow me.”

Thor just looks at him fondly, as if he’s the biggest idiot in the Nine Realms. “Oh, Loki,” he sighs. 

Loki bristles at the implication— nearly worse than being slighted for his birth is being slighted for his intelligence. “Enlighten me, then,” he grits his teeth to keep from saying more.

Thor just smiles at him with obnoxious affection. “I wonder if we haven’t been willfully blind to the truth because it all seemed too... impossible. The chasm between us grew larger in recent years than ever before. And yet, as we keep finding out, things are never as straightforward as they seem.” He pauses, then corrects, “ _We_ aren’t as straightforward as we seem. But I think you see it too. There’s something else we’ve never spoken of.” Thor’s voice has dropped to a quiet intensity that makes the hair on the back of Loki’s neck stand on end, and the humid air seem to choke. 

“This is why I ask if you still see me as your brother,” Thor finishes. “Now that all else has fallen away. Maybe now is the time to speak plain.”

Loki’s tongue feels like lead as he tries to glibly remark, “Yet your words are as cryptic as any I have ever been accused of uttering. So, what is all this talk— tell me in your plainest speech, am I being disowned or not?”

It’s then Thor looks at him and finally seems to register Loki’s panic— which he doesn’t want Thor to actually _see_ , by the way. He just wants Thor to know what he’s feeling without him having to confess to it, is that truly so much to ask.

“No… Loki, no. I don’t mean you are anything _less_ to me than a brother, never that,” Thor says firmly, bringing Loki’s hand to his warm, wet chest. “That is never a question. Even in our darkest hours, of all the beings in the Nine Realms and beyond, you have always been that which matters most to me— that whom I love above all others.”

Loki is taken aback, and the iron bands that bind his heart seem to constrict ever harder. Try as he might to deny it, it’s true that nothing, no one matters more to him than Thor— Frigga would once have occupied nearly equal importance, but now, Thor truly is all he has left. All he holds dear. He’s just surprised to hear Thor utter the same sentiment so easily. 

But then, what doesn’t come easy for him.

“I think I understand,” is all he says in response, mind racing. Not sure he can bring himself to acknowledge what Thor is saying between the lines. 

“Do you?” Thor levels him with an appraising gaze, his golden eyepatch shimmering softly with condensation. 

“It’s hard to make sense of it all, now that everything has changed,” Loki says, carefully skirting round the issue. “We haven’t had the most… typical upbringing.”

Thor gives a snort of bitter laughter, looking down into the water, finally releasing Loki's wrist.

“You can say that again.” He sighs for a moment, reflecting inwardly before his gaze returns to Loki. 

Loki worries his bottom lip, daring to meet his eye. “So what _are_ you getting at, then.” He’s both desperate and terrified to know the answer, and he can’t bear to stay in suspense, not when it’s choking him so.

Thor leans back and runs a wet hand through his hair, exhaling audibly, and Loki tries not to watch the water droplets cascading down his pectorals. “I just want to be Loki and Thor,” he begins. “Together. For us and only us to decide whatever that ought to mean...”

“Whatever that ought to mean...” Loki repeats, giving him a bemused look. “Go on.”

“The Norns first brought us together, Loki,” Thor interjects. “Of this, there is no doubt. But you… many times, you could have left it all behind. And I couldn’t entirely blame you, knowing what I do now. Knowing how you were betrayed and lied to. There are some things I cannot so easily forgive, I think you understand. But perhaps I was too harsh— too eager to accuse and assume the worst because I didn’t _want_ to know what had turned you into a man that for a time, I no longer recognized. I know I still don’t understand everything, maybe I never will.” He sets his jaw. “But even so, I made more than my own share of foolish mistakes, some unforgivable in their own right, and you still came back to me, time and again. ”

“The opportunity to watch you get slapped around by our elder sister was just too tempting to pass up,” Loki teases, trying to lighten the mood a little. Trying to ease the tension in his chest. 

Thor just smiles through Loki’s smokescreen, seemingly appreciating the attempt no less. “I don’t take it lightly, you know,” he continues. “That you returned yet again. I know my fumbling attempts to use your own tricks against you had nothing to do with it. I was angry, you were angry, both trying to help and protect each other in our own stupid, useless ways. This may sound foolish, but I’ve come to accept we can’t long bear to be apart, you and I. That whether in love or in rage, we are always drawn together— forever circling around each other like two idiot buzzards.” He grins softly to himself, evidently reading Loki’s uncomfortable mix of amusement and tension.

“But as I said— it’s more than fate, Loki. It’s a choice. And I know I would rather choose a day of vexation together than a lifetime of peace apart. You would rather my rage than my indifference… and I confess, despite my attempts to feign otherwise, I will never cease chasing when you run, not if there’s still a chance to catch you.” 

Thor fixes him with a heavy gaze. 

“This is what I mean, that perhaps it’s time for us to decide who and _what_ we ought to be. For our passions and our actions speak of something greater than mere brotherhood, do they not?”

There is a subtle shift in his voice, in his demeanour as he says those last words— that same quiet intensity from before. Loki feels the warning twinge in his psyche, his closely-guarded secret coiling itself tighter. He glances longingly at the bottle Thor placed just out of his reach. He is entirely too tipsy and yet far too sober for this conversation. Better to end it.

“What do you want from me, Thor?” He asks, unusually blunt, still staring at the bottle.

“What are you willing to give me, Loki?” Thor asks, and there’s now an unmistakable undercurrent to his voice that makes something inside Loki seize in recognition. It’s the very sound he’s imagined time and time again, in moments of weakness and shame— what he’s turned to in frustration, when nothing else could tip him over the brink. The sound of Thor speaking his name intently and with dark purpose has never failed him. 

“That all depends,” Loki parries clumsily, unsure of his own senses, unwilling to put himself on the chopping block first. “Am I your brother or am I not? You can’t have it both ways.”

Thor purses his lips in thought and Loki wets his own before he can think better of it. From the look on his face, this doesn’t escape Thor’s notice. 

“What if I said I could?” he challenges, crossing his arms in front of his chest, calm and steady.

Loki’s heart stutters. “I’d say you were a fool who has no idea what he’s talking about.” He tries to derail Thor with indignation, but Thor just grins, infuriatingly.

“Takes one to know one, wouldn’t you say?”

“I resent the implication,” Loki scowls, making a reach for his bottle. “There’s only one idiot here and he’s currently in the way of my well-earned intoxication.” Thor quickly slides over, latching onto Loki’s arm, blocking him with his chest. Loki can feel their legs bumping underwater, the jets eddying around their thighs. 

Thor is very naked and very close. Loki feels like his entire body is overheating at an alarming pace. He almost feels faint. 

“Perhaps you just don’t know how to ask for what you need?” Thor challenges again, low and quiet this time. A hard jolt of desire sears through Loki, followed instantly by a crushing wave of fear.

“You are truly a presumptuous oaf,” sneers Loki, trying desperately to ignore his growing erection, hoping the bubbles and ripples in the water will disguise it. “Or a _fucking asshole_ , as you seem to increasingly prefer the Midgardian parlance.”

“Is that so?” Inquires Thor, politely. 

Loki suddenly wants to smack that look right off his face.

“Mind yourself, Thor,” he growls, ripping his arm from Thor’s grasp and drawing back. “You spend a few days in my company, and suddenly you think you’ve got me all figured out?” And now he’s working himself up into actual anger, because how _dare_ Thor accuse him, how dare he lord it over Loki with that patronizing little smile?

“After all that cloying talk of kinship, you would treat me as some dumb beast to be shamed and brought to heel?” Loki draws in a hard breath, feeling his nostrils flare and his chest rise, clenching and unclenching his fists. “What is this-- this pitiful attempt to bend me to your will? Don’t dare presume that because I did what was necessary to survive Sakaar, that I am now so foul and tainted to seek out such twisted things, nor so desperate and _pathetic_ as to beg for whatever scraps of twisted affection you would give me.” he spits in a voice acidic, thoroughly engrossed in his rant. 

“In your mighty arrogance, you would presume even your own brother cannot resist you? It’s no secret that you never held the highest estimation of _my_ character, but truly, I’m surprised you would debase yourself when you have plenty of others to do your bidding. I’m sure the Valkyrie would have agreed to be my ball and chain if you plied her with enough liquor. Or did you simply think her not perverse enough for my no-doubt monstrous tastes,” he snarls, wanting desperately to wipe that fond, placid look off Thor’s face.

“Are you playing the hero again? Sacrifice yourself for the sake of the team, prevent me from running off and making you more trouble? Keeping me on a short leash, is that it?”

Thor’s lack of reaction angers him-- oh, so now he knows self-control, does he?-- and Loki launches breathlessly into another tactic. 

“Or is it not my reputation, but the foul circumstance of my birth that fuels this madness? You’ve no doubt heard the legends of frost giants begetting young on their men, perhaps you thought you might follow in Odin’s plan to unite the realms after all? Ah, is that what this is all about? Find yourself a convenient consort through which to secure a lovely new winter home for your decimated people?” An eyeroll and a disdainful sniff. “Well, if you’re looking to carry on the royal line, I’m sorry to disappoint you, _brother_ , but even were I capable of such things, Laufey’s court has no great love for me. Once we manage to collect Sif, I’m sure she’ll be happy to be of service, even if only as queen of a paltry kingdom in a metal floating carcass.”

Even this fails to get more than a slight raise of an eyebrow out of Thor. Loki is growing desperate. 

“Or are you simply here to confess your own taboo taste for exotic ass,” he snarls, “now that only Heimdall knows well enough to shame you? Why bother with me at all, I’m sure you’ll be more than satisfied when we land on Xandar-- they’ll no doubt fall all over themselves to welcome you. Who wouldn’t want to curry favor with the chosen son of Odin? You’ll be drowning in all the bodies you can wish for, if you only learn some patience. Who knew all it took was some terrible liquor and a hot bath for Thor to forget his standards.”

Even with his most damning sneer, Thor is as immovable as stone. Loki glares daggers into him. “I must know, which is it, Thor? Surely, you are about to confess the truth that lies within one of these tales of woe? Because I _know_ you did not come here to accuse me of unfulfilled needs, to insist that _I_ am the one who lacks for courage. Yes, I may well be a monster within and without, but if I desired you, brother, trust me, you would damn well know it.” 

And then, just like that, his silver tongue has cut both ways. 

The words hang in the air. Certainly more than enough rope to hang himself on. 

Loki is suddenly sobered and still, mind racing for something else to say. Because Thor knows. Loki isn’t sure how, but he is suddenly certain of the reason Thor just took his verbal lashing without complaint. He’s become far too wise to Loki’s tricks and defenses, and too kind to humiliate Loki further. It’s maddening.

In the end, Thor just hums calmly, thoughtfully, his gaze dropping to Loki’s lips for a moment. His smug demeanor has diminished, which helps, but Loki’s too aghast to really count the victory.

“You know, I realized much later that perhaps I shouldn’t have abandoned you, that night with the girls,” Thor says, in an uncanny echo of Loki’s earlier thoughts. “You often accused me of pushing you aside and you weren’t wrong…”

Thor trails off, and a dark cast comes over his face, as sudden as a heavy cloud bank. When he speaks again, his tone is almost somber, even confessional.

“But I see you have yet to realize why things had to change. And why you aren’t wrong to accuse me of shifting the blame for my cowardice.”

Loki’s breath dies in his throat-- for it’s not accusation writ on Thor’s face. It’s guilt of years past come home to roost. But that can’t be right. 

“That night was the tipping point, Loki. The moment I could no longer brush aside my suspicion that there was something terribly amiss in my heart.” Thor’s voice is indeed pained, but he does not look away. “It became clear what I sought was no longer of an innocent and childish nature, easily blamed on curiosity. I knew that night that I wished for things no man should desire from his brother, and I hoped to Yggdrasil that you would take it for a joke and never realize what I had become. And you did... to my lasting relief and dismay.”

Indeed, Thor seems torn between those two opposites as the words leave his lips, carried away unseen by the steam of the water but leaving an indelible mark on them both. 

Loki is stunned into silence at what he’s hearing— he can’t accept Thor giving breath to the very words he himself could have spoken. 

That this could be a secret they’ve shared for centuries… it seems utterly unthinkable.

Thor takes in his expression, then adds with wry chagrin, “You know, you weren’t the only one to fancy yourself a monster. To this day, I still marvel that Mjolnir ever obeyed my command.” He groans, finally looking away to rub a hand over his eye. “The things I _imagined_ , Loki...”

No. No, impossible. His mind is racing over all the reasons why it can’t be as Thor says; there must be another explanation or else it’s some kind of twisted trap, _Loki_ was meant to be the ghastly and deviant one, Thor would _never_ have looked at him thus, not in their youth, not when they were still meant to be blood, how could he have possibly— 

“Impossible,” is all he manages, at first. And then, “You aren’t serious.”

But Thor simply nods in affirmation.

“I swore to always protect you, Loki. I had hoped you thought nothing of that night, but I felt in my gut later, how wrong I’d been. Using you to satisfy my own curiosity. It was… I meant no harm, but...” Thor brings a hand to his mouth for a moment, worrying his beard. “It was then I realized I had failed to protect you from myself. That couldn’t happen again. I realize now how short-tempered and cruel, how distant I became, for fear you should discover me… I suppose I thought it better to be callous than lecherous.”

Loki is speechless. He honestly isn’t sure if he’s even still breathing or blinking.

Thor crosses his arms in front of him, meeting Loki’s eyes straight on. “I may seem a fighter, but in truth, when it comes to you-- yes, I am a coward, Loki. And I am sorry. Our secrets have come at great cost to us both.”

“Bor’s blood, Thor... ” Loki finally finds his voice again, but it feels weak, enervated in the face of Thor’s revelation. “All this time? Since we… we were barely older than children!”

Thor nods, but he seems unashamed. “And thus, it took me far too long to realize the entirety of the situation— at first I was oblivious, wallowing in my own guilt. And then I became convinced I was seeing only what I wished to see…” He leans forward, face brightening with an intensity Loki instinctively shys from-- a light that exposes all the secrets in the comfortable dark.

“But now I understand,” he claims. “Why we fight the way we do. Why we can’t seem to be together, but when we’re apart it’s unbearable. It has always felt like we were a single being split in two, each carrying a part of the other— has it not? And every time I thought you lost or dead…” Thor breaks off for a moment, gaze askance, exhaling harshly through his nostrils. It takes him a moment before he can meet Loki’s eyes again.

“I won’t let myself waste another chance, Loki. I cannot keep pretending I feel only the bonds of brotherhood, when the truth is that you are so much more. I _want_ you to be more.”

“Thor,” Loki protests with no real force behind it. He feels elated and devastated all at once, crushed beneath the wheel of his emotions. “This is madness. How could…” he can’t bring himself to give voice to the rest of his question. 

_How could you possibly want_ me _when you could have anyone in the galaxy. Anyone at all._

Thor only grins. 

“Yes,” he agrees, meeting Loki’s bewildered gaze. “I knew it was madness even then, that night with the girls. And damn it, Loki, I meant not to let it go any further. After we kissed, I meant to thoroughly distract myself with them, but Norns, you were all I could think of.” Thor gives a sheepish grin tinged with apology; a curious mix of elation and regret Loki isn’t sure he’s ever seen on Thor’s face. 

“I confess, I wasn’t quite so drunk as I seemed… I remember most all the parts worth remembering. How could I not. It was the most wonderful, terrible night of my life. And I thought maybe—“ and here he pauses. “Years later, _centuries_ later-- trying to figure out where it all went so wrong between us. I looked back on that night and thought you might also have felt something. Even if you didn’t know what it was.”

Loki feels a rush of pleasure low in his belly, lapping at him with teasing warmth. That Thor had been trying and failing not to think of him, just as Loki had been struggling with his own desire… 

“You saw me, then,” he accuses Thor, both in awe and ire. “You knew what… what it did to me. How it confused me.”

Thor nods. “At first I thought I had merely corrupted you, put terrible thoughts into your head. But now, after all this time… I’ve come to realize. The way you look at me, Loki. How you push me away and call me to you in the same breath. How you hated me for defending Jane against you. So many things that make me wonder...” Thor fixes him with a questioning gaze. “It wasn’t all my doing, was it, Loki? There was always something there… even before. Even now.”

Loki feels as though his very organs are being torn asunder, his stomach is in a twist and his heart is racing. Oh Norns, but he _wants_ to give Thor the answer he’s looking for, but he can’t have this, he can’t… Even with Thor’s revelation easing the way, the damning words cling to his tongue, not allowing him to speak them into being. 

“Don’t forget who I am, Thor,” he cautions instead, hardening his voice. “Or _what_ I am. I’m not an innocent anymore. What you desire is a shadow, only a memory.”

Thor reaches out, finds Loki’s wrist once more. Holds it gently this time. “You’re wrong, Loki.” He gives a small frustrated shake of his head, not taking his eye away. “You don’t understand— I know exactly who you are. It is not a memory I seek. It’s the man right in front of me. The very same who drives me to the limits of my sanity and patience. He’s who I want.”

Loki presses his lips together, trying to keep himself from saying anything incriminating, and Thor looks at him with such love, it’s almost dizzying.

“I won’t force you into anything, Loki. I have spent too long either trying to possess you or protect you. I know better than that now… You are still free to do as you please. Although, that said, I’ll be _damned_ before I let that psychotic orgy-loving bastard get his hands on you again,” he all but growls, a flicker of lightning in his eye, and the shiver that runs through Loki is only partly from fear of electrocution via bath water.

“Thor,” He protests again— or perhaps whines, pleads. Hard to tell at this point.

Thor wets his lips, head tilted in. “Now you’ve had my honesty— you know what’s in my heart. So I’ll ask again— what do you want from me, Loki?” 

But Loki has no words, can’t speak for the life of him. For once, his brother has taken them all.

Thor leans in, puts his hand on the back of Loki’s neck in a way that will never cease to thrill.

“This can end here, Loki, and you have my word we need never speak of it again. Mere brothers we can remain and I will ever be grateful for it, for there is nothing insignificant to our bond.” Thor speaks low and intent— his blue iris turned warm, almost golden in the dim light. “But if I’m right in thinking we have only been fooling ourselves these many centuries? If you truly want this as I do?” He trails off, looking down over Loki’s exposed shoulder and chest, then back up. “I’m here,” he says, simply, squeezing Loki’s neck in affection before letting go and moving back, giving him space. Wanting Loki to make the move. 

No ultimatums this time, and all the more terrifying for it. 

Something breaks inside Loki— some dam that he’s long tried to pretend doesn’t exist. Because to acknowledge it would be to accept what it holds back. And he’s never been able to do that.

“I—“ and curse his traitorous eyes that glance down at Thor’s lips. Lips that slowly curl into a grin. Loki forces himself to meet Thor’s gaze. There is no judgment there, only adoration. And hope.

And Loki’s greedy, wretched heart is ignoble and oh so very selfish. 

“Yes.” He hears himself say. “A thousand times, yes.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Thor closes his eye and breathes out the Midgardianism with a slight wobbling laugh to his voice-- and Loki realizes with a pang how nervous Thor had been under the brave face.

And then Thor’s looking straight into him and coming closer again, wrapping his arms around Loki and pulling him half into his lap, and then they’re really, truly kissing for the first time in over six hundred years.

This time there are no girls from Alfheim, no audience for which to play. Just their heavy breathing and sharp inhales over burbling of the jets, the humid press of eager lips and the slide of tongues and teeth, the heady taste of sweet citrus and herbs. The splash of Loki deciding to do away with caution and curl further into Thor’s lap, the better to kiss him senseless, one hand twining in Thor’s cropped hair while Thor’s fingers tangle in his.

They pull back after another long moment, breathing hard against each other’s chests, staring at each other in disbelief.

“Thor—“ the blessed name falling from Loki’s tongue. “What…”

“Loki,” comes the warm rumble, and there’s such warmth and awe and desire in that blue eye gazing back at him that Loki shivers.

“I don’t know what comes after this,” he finds himself confessing all in a rush, feeling immensely brilliant and foolish.

“Neither do I,” murmurs Thor, conspiratorially. Loki meets his singular gaze for another moment and then Thor’s mouth twitches and Loki feels an answering tug at his lips mere seconds before another kind of dam breaks and they’re laughing harder they’ve done in centuries. 

Laughing until they’re crying and leaning on each other for support and their faces are in agony, but still they cannot stop, cannot stop— until Thor finally puts an end to the hysteria by kissing Loki again, deeper and with more intent.

Loki groans, inviting Thor’s tongue into his mouth, feeling Thor’s cock fattening, brushing against the outside of his thigh. He adjusts their awkward position without breaking the kiss, moving to straddle Thor’s legs, and Thor’s hands grasp his hips, pulling him in until their erections are snug against each other and they both breathe a little harder for it.

Loki pulls back first, sucking in a breath and resting his forehead against Thor’s, eyes closed. “What are we _doing_ , Thor.” He groans, feeling the usual, heavy turmoil of his heart sublimating into a bliss so foreign, so effervescent he has a hard time making sense of anything. It feels too incredible to possibly be real and doubt strikes quick on its heels. “Of all the things we’ve done over the millennia…”

“This is by far the strangest and the greatest,” Thor agrees. His hands on Loki’s hips do not waver, grow firmer if anything, tethering them together. “It feels even better than I remembered. Better than I could have imagined.” Loki pulls back to see him properly. His expression, for all his arousal, is oddly calm, quietly radiant. 

It’s difficult to be the subject of such a gaze, to accept that he’s truly desired by such a being as Thor, but Loki wants to try standing in the light for once. Still, he glances away, half-pretending to be mesmerized by the beads of steam collecting on Thor’s stubble. “By all rights, it really shouldn’t,” he demurs.

Thor’s hands slip down further, kneading Loki’s ass, the movement sliding their pricks together under the water ever so enticingly. “Neither of us are who we once thought,” he muses, appreciative gaze trailing down over Loki’s body. Lingering only for a second on the terrible scar beneath his sternum before moving on.

Loki bites his lip, the attention getting to him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. “More than brothers, you said.”

Thor nods, arousal evident in his face, in the tension of his body— no longer the nerves of before. A different kind of anticipation. “More than anything I know how to put a name to,” he says with such openness, such artless honesty. 

Loki feels himself drawn and quartered between awestruck, terrified, amused, and dreadfully turned on. “Well,” he suggests, “Perhaps we don’t have to. Leave that to others to whisper at our backs.”

Thor brings up a warm, wet hand to Loki’s neck, stroking his thumb over his cheek. He isn’t bothered by Loki’s cynicism, his only reaction an eager conspirator’s grin. “I don’t care who whispers, Loki. That is the least of things on my mind.”

Loki feels an answering smile curl his lips, despite the annoying little voice screaming inside him that this can’t be real, this can’t be trusted. He ignores it, overwhelmed with a desperation to hold this delicate thing and see if he can keep it alive.

“What’s foremost on your mind, then?” He asks, bringing his hand round to gently tease the backs of his knuckles against Thor’s arousal before palming him firmly.

Thor takes a deep inhale through flared nostrils, wrapping his own massive hand around both their cocks and Loki’s fingers. “I think you have an idea,” he all but purrs, voice like the rumble of a large predatory beast, and Loki feels his blood stir. 

“Tell me,” he insists. “Tell me exactly.” It’s foolish but he needs to hear the words from Thor. Needs to know with finality this isn’t some stretch of his own perverse imagination. 

But Thor knows this already. He leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Loki’s neck, slowly jerking their cocks under the water, and Loki shivers despite the heat. 

“I want to taste all of you,” Thor mumbles against his skin, and Loki clutches at his broad bicep, rocking forward into Thor’s grip. “I want to know you inside and out, and for you to know the same of me. And ohhh… your ass in those tight leather breeches.” Thor groans so dramatically that Loki can’t help the slightly hysterical laugh that erupts from his throat. “All these years you’ve kept yourself covered in tunics and overcoats, and then you suddenly decide to torment me in the worst way possible.” 

“I’m sure I could come up with even better torments, now that I know how effective they are,” Loki quips, though it feels surreal to be jesting about such things.

Thor laughs too, shaking his head in mock chagrin. “Ahh, brother. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to drag you out of sight and ravish you in a quiet corner.” And with a sigh that on anyone else could be called breathless, he leans in to murmur hot and close, “I want to do so many terrible things to you, Loki. I want to make you say my name in ways you’ve never said it before.”

Loki squeezes his eyes shut. “You’ve been watching too many terrible films on Midgard.” He deflects, voice weaker than he’d like it to be. Damn Thor for knowing how to rile him— for knowing that sharp, salacious words would affect him far more than tender professions of courtly affection. Thor just laughs again, squeezing their cocks a little harder, and Loki’s hips buck up into his grip.

“Maybe,” Thor admits. “Humans can be very inspiring.” He bites down on Loki’s neck, his beard tickling in an unfairly appealing manner. 

Loki tries to bite back a moan, and the next few minutes are a blur of rasping teeth and stubble, of gasps and roving hands. Thor urges Loki up onto the ledge of the tub, which after a slight attack of self-consciousness, he agrees to. The air chills his skin, helping him to feel a little more grounded— though he’s no longer sure he wants to ever come back to reality. 

Thor kneels between Loki’s thighs and the heat, the wonder in his gaze, brings an undignified flush to Loki’s face and chest, assisted by liquor mingling with his blood. He can only watch stupidly, entranced, as Thor wraps his large fist around Loki’s cock, making sure he’s plenty hard and meeting Loki’s eye for just a brief moment before ducking his shorn head and taking half the length into his mouth. Loki instantly hisses, tenses at the sensation— even after the heat of the bath, Thor’s mouth feels so incredibly warm. He can’t help but place a hand on Thor’s head, wanting again to feel what’s left of his hair between his fingers.

“Ahh, Thor—“ he exclaims, as Thor squeezes the base and swallows him down a bit further, humming in response. His tongue teasing Loki in just the right places, as if they’ve done this before. 

It almost feels like they have.

Loki’s hips jerk slightly as Thor releases his grip on Loki’s cock, instead palming, caressing the sensitive flesh of Loki’s scrotum as he bobs his head. 

Loki has to put an arm out for balance, leaning back to watch Thor’s lips glide up and down his shaft. He was wrong, he realizes with a start. This is like nothing he could have imagined, despite having pictured their coupling many times in moments of weakness-- spilling over his own hand countless times at the thought of it, always an illusory and unsatisfying end.

But oh, the truth of what Thor is doing to him now— the obscene sounds of his wet mouth on Loki’s skin and the smell of arousal and liquor, the humidity and low light of the room. Every sense is so overwhelmed that he doesn’t know what to do but hang on for dear life.

Thor takes him all the way in. Loki can’t help a sharp utterance as he feels his cockhead bump the back of Thor’s throat before sliding down into that snug, wet heat. The feeling only invites the desire for further wickedness— he tugs Thor by the hair as he rolls his hips up and forward, testing. He can see Thor’s eyelashes flutter briefly, a deep murmur of appreciation vibrating up through his throat and Loki’s flesh alike.

That Thor should be bent before him so, lavishing his prick with such devotion, fills Loki both with awe and terrible delight. 

Never had he imagined Thor would actually do such a thing— not least because he’d always imagined, even fantasized that Thor would be more concerned with chasing his own pleasure, or perhaps would expect Loki to prostrate himself first. But in this, he is surprised. Whether it’s born of Thor’s guilt or his longing, or something else entirely, Loki feels not only desired but… appreciated, he realizes. 

It’d be a more uncomfortable sensation, did it not accompany Thor sucking his cock like he was built for it. He had no idea Thor knew how to do this. How many other things...

Loki stares down at his brother, waiting for the full reality of what they’re doing to hit him— some debilitation horror or self-loathing to arise, some urge to flee or fight. But nothing of the sort seems to be forthcoming, so he willfully pretends that it will all be fine and that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying this while it lasts.

Loki rolls his hips to meet the next descent of Thor’s mouth upon him, and the sight of those wetly shining, plush lips wrapped around his girth is unfairly arousing. He cradles the back of Thor’s head and Thor glances up toward him, and oh Norns, meeting his gaze as he pulls back to lick the crown, flat pink of his tongue laving over the sensitive underside, teasing his slit. Loki feels his growing need— so overpowering, entirely too soon.

“Thor, wait,” he drops his hand to a broad, slick shoulder. “Just… a moment.” Thor pulls back, and the smug grin he’s trying to hold back is so infectious that Loki feels an unexpected laugh bubble forth from within him. “What,” he demands, trying to appear cross and probably failing.

Thor just shakes his head, grin now in full force. “Not tired yet, are you?”

Loki bristles, mostly in good humour. “A bit bored if anything.”

Thor flicks water at him in response, and Loki makes an instinctive noise of surprise, hand flying up to shield himself. It’s clearly the wrong thing to do, because Thor lights up like a midsummer’s bonfire and proceeds to full on splash him. Loki just gapes at him, water dripping from his nose and eyelashes, astonished that Thor went from sucking him off to juvenile horseplay at the drop of a knife, but then he sees the glint in Thor’s eye. 

Remembers the hot springs. 

Loki _grins_.

He slips back into the water, ducks below the surface and slides down— and if he happens to look a bit like a trout for a moment as he darts betwixt those muscular thighs, that’s no one’s business but his own. By the time Thor spins around, Loki is back in his Æsir skin and is just surfacing for air — pleased to find his erection is just as he left it.

Loki slicks back his hair, blinking water from his eyes, and oh, the look Thor is giving him now instantly sends desire shuddering through him, the muscles in his lower back tensing in a most enticing manner. “Come get me,” he teases, warming to their play, and Thor wades closer. 

“What do I get if I catch you?” he questions, voice dark and roughened with a possessiveness that Loki wishes didn’t affect him so visibly. 

“Whatever you want,” Loki teases, and if it comes out breathier than he intends, well. Thor doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Two minutes later, there’s rainbow shimmers of water all over the floor, extending well past the tile, and Thor has him once again in his clutches— having grabbed Loki from behind by the slippery hips as he tried to dart up and out of the tub. 

Loki feels Thor yank him back and becomes very aware of his position; of their proximity. Thor leans in and bites the swell of his right buttock, just above his thigh. It’s all Loki can do to contain a whimper as the teeth are followed with the wet hot pressure of tongue. It’s altogether too close and too far from where he wants it, and Bor’s blood, Thor isn’t actually—

He feels Thor push his upper half down onto the tile, then settle down between Loki’s legs, bringing his massive calloused hands down from Loki’s hips to roughly knead his ass with fervour, and then— oh Hel— Loki shivers as Thor slowly spreads him with the reverence. 

“Whatever I want, you said…” Thor repeats.

“Nngh,” says Loki.

Thor laughs then, a dark and beautiful sound, and Loki almost moans just to think of Thor _looking_ at him like this. It near sets his skin aflame.

“Tell me what _you_ want.” 

Loki feels Thor’s words more than he hears them, breath hot against his skin, and then Thor is dragging the flat of his tongue just to the side of Loki’s entrance and his lower back seizes again, his muscles convulsing deliciously as pleasure trips through him.

Loki exhales through an open mouth, feeling unbelievably raw and exposed.

“I wouldn’t say no to more of that,” he manages to get out without sounding too affected, he thinks, but he feels Thor’s knowing grin when he presses a kiss to the same place he just licked.

“Well, you’d better act like you mean it, or that’s all you’ll get,” Thor trails off nonchalantly, the teasing tone gets under Loki’s skin in all the best and worst ways, and he truly wants to _murder_ Thor in that moment, just as he truly wants Thor to fuck him so he can’t walk straight for weeks.

“What would you have me do,” Loki all but whines as Thor licks him again, so close to where his body is crying out for it.

Thor just laughs under his breath, barely audible over the jets of the tub. But his next words are unmistakable.

“Beg me.”

Loki bites his lip to stifle a moan, feeling his cock jerk against the side of the tub. Oh, he wants nothing more than to plead for Thor’s tongue and fingers to fuck him open until Loki’s ready for his cock— and the thought of that thick girth thrust up inside him is almost more than he can bear. 

And it’s for that precise reason that he refuses. Can’t let himself. If Thor knew how much he truly wanted this, maybe he wouldn’t—

“Stop thinking,” Thor admonishes with a wet swat to his upper thigh, though there’s fondness in it.

“Don’t give me room to think, then,” Loki retorts, voice overly harsh in reply, but miraculously Thor seems to understand both his desperate need and the binding that chokes and stifles him. 

He caresses Loki’s ass once more with his broad hands before lowering his mouth and licking a flat stripe upward, tracing the center of him. Loki’s hands clench in futility at the tile beneath his fingers as he drops his head and hides within the curtain of his damp hair, feels an involuntary quiver in his flanks. 

Thor’s tongue finds his entrance and laps at him like a thirsting man, rubbing his thumbs ever closer. His beard is just soft enough to tease and tickle the sensitive skin. Loki’s unbearably hard and he wiggles just slightly, trying to get some friction against his cock, but Thor holds him tighter and gives a pointed lick of his tongue as if to penetrate, just a taste of what’s to come, and it’s too soon, but Loki feels himself slowly starting to relinquish something tightly held in his chest. 

He feels his control slip even more when he feels a firm, wet finger rub across his clenched rim, and it’s not that he hasn’t done this plenty— but knowing it’s _Thor_ who’s looking at him, who’s touching him so much more intimately than anyone else could have ever hoped to, simply by merit of being himself… it’s almost too much to bear.

“Oil,” Loki manages to say. “Here.” He rummages mentally, tries to feel for where he’s stashed it— and what he finds is actually an ingredient for spellcasting, not lovemaking— and not exactly the easiest to come by, but Loki can’t bring himself to care right now. It will more than do the trick. In fact, if he remembers correctly— it might even have some unintended benefits.

Loki reaches back to hand him the vial, and gets Thor’s fond, long-suffering sigh in response.

“Moondrake essence from northern Vanaheim? Will this turn either of us into anything unsavory?”

“I’ve always enjoyed sweets, myself,” Loki quips, but his attitude doesn’t last because Thor is already opening the vial and coating his fingers from the sound of it, and the thought fills him with such immense anticipation that he’s obliged to reach down and give himself a quick stroke or two while Thor is otherwise occupied.

Thor bats at his arm. “Oh, you think you’re allowed to touch now? Hands up where I can see them.”

The pleasure he gets from this simple direction is more than enough to compensate not being permitted to relieve some of his agony. And when Thor returns to him, when his tongue presses a firm lick to the top of Loki’s entrance while an oil-slick finger rubs at him from beneath, Loki isn’t entirely successful at biting back his groan. 

Thor doesn’t cease his ministrations, alternating fingers and tongue until Loki is hot in the face and desperate for Thor to actually penetrate him— with something, _anything_. But though the thought of begging is delicious and terrible, he doesn’t want to ask for it— keeps running into the strange, invisible line he dares not trip, for all the boundaries already crossed this evening. 

Soft whuffs of air escape him as Thor begins to press on him more firmly, with a shallow rocking motion to simulate thrusts, and Loki knows how badly Thor wants to break him open. He craves it too— for Thor to flip him on his back, wrench his thighs open with those mighty hands and hold him down while Thor splits him on his cock, makes him take every last inch. Oh Norns, he wants it so badly that he’s certain it can’t happen. He doesn’t dare ask for so much; fortune may smile on Thor but Loki knows it has no great love for him.

He suddenly realizes Thor can tell he’s distracted— a small reprimand comes in the form of a sharp nip of teeth to his buttock, followed by a torturously pleasurable slow tug on his sac that leaves him panting and sweating. 

“Focus on me, Loki,” Thor instructs, giving another open-mouthed bite to Loki’s tender flesh. “There’s nothing else but you and me.”

Loki gasps out a laugh. “Oh, if that were only true,” he half teases, but then he senses Thor is about to do something, the hair stands up on the back of his neck, and then in the instant he realizes what’s about to—

The lightning _rips_ through him with an audible hiss, dancing over his skin, searing hot and alighting all his nerves. Loki spasms and howls, vision kaleidoscoping with the light dancing over the chamber walls and the sparks flying off the shimmering surface of the water. It’s over as quickly as it began, leaving only a tingling heat under the heavy palm on his arse and an effervescence in his veins, clinging to his hair. Loki is panting heavily, blood rushing in his ears, and he’s so unbelievably hard, his cock is aching and dripping with need, even the spot deep inside him that has yet to be touched directly is throbbing with delicious agony.

Thor soothes a hand over his lower back, and somehow this is what pushes Loki into a broken moan. “More,” he gasps, voice feeling jagged in his throat. “Please.”

Thor doesn’t lord it over him, just stands and pulls Loki up against him, one hand hard on his hip, the water lapping at their thighs. He can feel Thor’s hardness against his left buttock, but it’s Thor’s other hand he’s paying most attention to, fingers oil-slick and stroking teasingly between his cheeks again. Loki can feel the moondrake starting to seep into his skin and temper his overstimulated nerves, soothing everything into a soft, pleasant hum.

“I’ll give you anything you want, brother,” Thor murmurs against his hair, face buried in the crook of his neck. “You only have to ask me for it.”

Loki feels frustrated tears spring to the corner of his eyes. He knows why Thor is doing this. But he doesn’t want to have to ask, he wants Thor to simply _take_. 

“Don’t make me,” he finds himself warning, though in truth it sounds like pleading. “Anything but that.” He can’t help but gasp a little when he feels Thor’s finger press just hard enough on his rim to slip a little, teasing hint inside. Oh Norns, he burns for it. Thor runs his free hand up over Loki’s chest, his stomach, before drifting down to grip his cock and give it a few rough jerks. Loki grits his teeth and rocks into it, instantly regretting the loss of the pressure from behind. Thor is ever an effective tormentor.

“What do you want from me, Loki?” Thor asks him yet again. Loki’s lost track of how many times this question has been leveled at him, and he feels a familiar tingling in the water around his thighs, from the hand wrapped around his prick, from the hard cock and torso behind him-- it seems to be radiating from every part of Thor. Thor keeps his face pressed into Loki’s hair, speaking to him dark and low.

“If you truly want me to force you to submit to me, Loki... I will.” He slides his hand up from Loki’s cock to rest at the front of Loki’s throat— gentle but firm, still with that faint buzzing under the skin— and Loki can barely breathe just for its presence. 

“But I think part of you wants to beg me, too,” Thor murmurs into his hair. “And if this is to be our first time, I want there to be no doubt that you ache for it as desperately as I do.” He stops there, as if carefully considering his words. Loki holds himself still as a rabbit in sights of a falcon.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Thor nuzzles his nose up until his lips are at the shell of Loki’s ear. “Be good and beg for me to take you now, and next time, I’ll use you as hard and rough as you can bear. You can even beg me to stop, if you like.”

The tingling in the water increases, and Loki groans and shudders with terrible longing. Thor’s words seem to cut to his very centre. Before he can even begin to think of a reply, Thor squeezes his throat and sets his skin alight, another bolt of pleasure ripping through him. Loki jerks and spasms, gasps for air, panting within the cage of Thor’s hands. A cage he craves as much as it terrifies him. 

“What do you say?” Thor presses him for an answer. 

Loki is drowning in less than three feet of water. “Yes,” he chokes out. “Whatever you want. Put something _inside_ me already.”

“You want more of my fingers?” Thor teases, his pleasure at Loki’s response evident. The hand holding Loki’s throat slips down and resumes its post guarding Loki’s cock, spreading the slick that’s gathered at the crown— a thick finger gives another taunting press at the tight furl of Loki’s entrance. 

Loki growls with exasperation. “Damn you, yes.” After a moment with no reaction, he adds, “please.”

“Like you mean it,” Thor rumbles squeezing his cock once again, and Loki groans piteously, leaning back into the solid chest behind him. Evidently his vaunted pride has abandoned him.

“ _Brother_ , you torment me,” he protests, horrified at how much the embarrassment is turning him on, but no-- words are his domain and he won’t yield so easily, not without dragging Thor down with him. “Must I spell it out? I want you in me. I want you to take me, I want to feel you filling me.” The words choke him with lust and shame, which only begets further arousal. He feels the flush growing stronger in his chest and cheeks, his head swims.

“Do you truly?” Thor leans in against his ear, jerking him with maddenly slow strokes as he presses a little harder. “I would have you hungry and desperate for me, Loki. Nothing less.”

Loki exhales with a tremor, caught in a flare of anger at the thought of being seen as weak, desperate, but his ire swiftly spins itself into arousal. “Yes,” he forces out. “Damn it, Thor— just don’t—“ his voice breaks. 

But Thor doesn’t move, only continues his slow torturous strokes, and Loki feels the sting of frustrated tears once more, overwhelmed and yes, so incredibly desperate. Despairing of how he can convince Thor that he means it truly.

Then inspiration strikes with such serpentine speed that Loki almost laughs aloud. He should be no trembling prey, but the hand that rules the falcon. The lord of the hunt. Thor should be _his_ to command.

Loki grins to himself, already weaving a new tale, the words falling from his lips like a spell. “Ahhh, I see now. It is your ego I must please. You want a _confession_.” He does laugh, now. “I will admit, it’s true that I’ve desired you for so very long, brother. Well before you plied me with wine and kissed me that night. But oh, if you knew the thoughts you put in my head, once I had tasted you.”

He trails a hand up Thor’s thigh, stroking over the warm muscle. “And long after… So many nights in my foolish youth, I dreamed and fantasized and spilled my seed for you, too weak to resist. Abusing myself to thoughts of you. Pretending it was your hand on my cock-- wishing it was you slicking me up and splitting me open. I first learned to veil myself from Heimdall’s sight so I might freely call your name with no one the wiser. I wished I had the courage to sneak into your bed and take you into my mouth so you would wake with _my_ name on your lips.”

A hitch in Thor’s breath, then a groan; his hand tightens on Loki’s prick and Loki warms to his role, gaining strength.

“Oh yes, I’ve always wanted you, Thor,” he all but growls, the illicit thrill of seduction coursing through him. “I hid it away, thought I had buried what you awoke in me those many centuries ago, but it was only laying dormant, waiting for a time when we had nothing left to lose. And here we are at long last.” 

He gives a low exhale as he rocks his hips back against Thor’s, enjoying the feel of that heavy cock straining against him. “What do you want from _me_? Shall I make a guess?” Unable to resist pushing his buttons, Loki digs deeper. “Yes, Thor, here is my bargain. I’ll be your sweet, little brother once more— innocent and ripe for the taking. And in return… you will spread my legs like you should have done that night, but you won’t be soft. You won’t be timid. You’ll be firm and hard and unrelenting. You’ll make me take every last inch. Make it so I won’t be able to walk straight for days, so everyone will know what you’ve done. That you fucked your brother and he loved every minute of it. That is my price.”

Thor breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against Loki’s shoulder. “Oh gods…” he whispers, and Loki presses back against him, turning his head toward Thor. 

“Go on. Claim what’s yours,” he murmurs, and finds he means it. “I’ll be so good for you.” 

Thor gives a soft groan as his thick finger finally breaches the soft, tight ring of muscle, and even with the moondrake oil easing the entry, a sudden, broken sob breaks loose from Loki’s chest— so intense the stretch, so beautiful and agonizing the burn. “Nggh,” he finds himself pleading even more desperately, wrapping an arm up around Thor’s neck and reaching back to grip his hipbone with the other. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Thor has one finger completely buried in him, and as he draws it slowly back out, Loki keens softly. He’s riding too high on endorphins to be embarrassed— Thor is _inside_ him for the very first time and nothing can take this moment from him. Not even himself.

“More,” he demands, as Thor begins to thrust his finger at a slow pace, quickly picking up speed as Loki rocks back against him. “Damn you, give me more. _Brother_.”

That word works like a charm— Thor makes a desperate, tormented sound that sounds suspiciously like Loki’s name as he adds a second finger, making Loki’s spine seize up. Before he’s had a chance to adjust, Thor’s already twisting them in and out, and they shudder and sigh together.

Loki rocks back into Thor’s hand, eager to set the pace, each thrust opening him up with delicious heat. But Thor makes a feral sound of frustration. Urges Loki back down, bending him over the side of the tub once again, as they were before. Loki drops his head and rests on his forearms once more, bringing his arse higher into the air.

“That’s better,” Thor says, in a lusty voice Loki is starting to recognize and crave. “Norns, you look so good. So good like this, Loki.” He runs his unoccupied hand over Loki’s flank, squeezing and stroking as he continues to work Loki’s arse open. 

Loki finds himself flushing at the praise, once more hideously turned on at the thought of Thor watching. His breath hitches when one long finger strokes the edge of his prostate, nerves already awake and eager from the shock treatment they received earlier, from the moondrake in his blood.

“I could watch myself do this for a hundred years and not grow tired,” Thor murmurs, squeezing the flesh of Loki’s arse harder, curling his hand around Loki’s hipbone. “How do you feel?”

Loki gives a shaky laugh, glad he doesn’t have to support his upper body anymore. “Oh, just fine,” he answers lightly, though the playful affect is somewhat ruined when Thor strokes right over that little bundle of nerves and Loki nearly bites his tongue, a strangled noise escaping him. 

“What was that?” Thor teases, and Loki has to admit, he’s taught Thor well.

“Never better,” he replies, then moans when Thor rubs firmly over the spot before retreating, making him crave the intensity of too much pleasure too soon. 

“I’m sure I can think of a few ways to make it better,” Thor retorts, and before Loki realizes what he’s up to, he’s fucking his tongue into Loki’s arse. 

If Thor’s tongue brought teasing torment before, it’s now unleashed a whole new world of delicious agony. Loki tries fruitlessly to bite back his cry, face and chest flushing red with arousal as Thor eagerly licks into him, tongue thrusting against his rim. He can’t seem to make up his mind what he wants more— to tongue Loki or to finger him— and he alternates with his two slicked fingers here and there; stroking, seeking his prize. 

Loki is quickly reduced to a sweating, trembling mess. Through the haze of pleasure, he vaguely thinks he ought to pull himself together, maintain some small shred of dignity, but he can no longer bring himself to care. Not now.

“Thor,” he moans out, after a particularly vigorous stroke to his prostate. “I need you to take me. Now.”

Thor’s hand stills inside of him, then withdraws— and Loki feels keenly the loss— but he quickly reaches up for Loki, pulls at him until Loki twists part way round until they can see each other properly.

Thor’s lips are shining wet and he looks radiant and wild in the dim golden light, and Loki’s heart and libido ache painfully. He needs Thor far more than he ever wanted to admit. In more ways than he ever wanted to accept. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Thor says, reaching for him, and it hurts to hear, and Loki craves it so badly, drinks it in with all the fervor of dry, parched earth in a sudden rain shower. 

Greedy for Thor’s praise, he rises up on one hand and turns to pull Thor into him, rolling himself into his back on the tile and spreading his legs to accommodate Thor’s thick, powerful body.

“Tell me how much you want this,” Loki demands, squeezing his thighs around Thor’s lower abdomen, just above the delicious jut of his hips. “And then show me you’re not all talk.”

That brings a smile to Thor’s lips, and he eagerly leans in to capture Loki’s mouth for a brief moment, plush lips on his own thin ones. He can taste and smell the fresh, clean musk of his own body on Thor’s mouth, and still the lingering trace of liquor.

“Where shall I begin?” Thor teases as he pulls back. “Mm, I want you so badly I think I could go mad with it. You feel— so good, Loki, and your taste. I can’t possibly taste you or touch you enough.” To punctuate his point, he cradles the side of Loki’s jaw in his hand and Loki realizes belatedly that he’s about to get unbearably sentimental. He voices the thought and Thor just laughs, sounding on the brink of tears.

“I never thought this would happen, forgive me if I’m a little overwhelmed,” he retorts, almost defensively, but too genuine and fond to make it stick. 

“It’s fine,” says Loki. “Only, if you could fuck me senseless while you process your emotions--”

Thor is consumed with laughter, shaking his head before kissing Loki hard once more. “I don’t have a sheath,” he murmurs as he pulls back, sounding dejected as if it’s only just occurred to him. 

“It’s fine,” says Loki, encircling him closer with his legs. “Trust me, I’m well ahead of you. Take me without one. I want to feel you mark me, from the inside.”

Thor gives him a dark, wild look, and Loki knows it was the right thing-- he aches for it. For them to be bonded in every way.

Thor silently reaches for the vial of oil still resting on the tile, slicks up his cock and makes sure Loki is well-oiled inside and out. Loki bites his lip and holds his breath as he feels Thor line up at his entrance. Norns, that cock is larger than anything he’s taken in years. 

He wants Thor to ruin him. 

But Thor pauses right before pushing in. Before he can ask yet again if Loki really, truly wants this, Loki sits up on his elbows, staring him down.

“Thor,” he demands, in his lowest growl. “Fuck your little brother _right now_ or he might never speak to you again.”

One of them makes a broken sob as Thor pushes slow and firm into Loki, and one of them cries out in reply as Loki bucks up against Thor, desperate for more. And it’s hard to say who clings harder or bites more viciously as they rut together like stags, like thrashing sea-serpents entwined, like mountains grinding and thrusting into new peaks.

It could be minutes or hours of their breathless, ragged panting and unabashed moans-- of the filthy slap of Thor’s hips and balls against Loki’s arse-- of Loki feverishly squeezing and thrusting into his own fist as Thor bends him in two, his legs shaking atop Thor’s broad shoulders.

“Loki,” Thor moans raggedly, around his mouthful of collarbone. His hips have set a brutal pace and it wrenches hard breaths from both of them. “Oh Norns, Loki.”

“Yes,” Loki urges him on, giving as good as he takes. He can feel the air thick with arousal and that delicious humming he’s learning fast to crave, echoing the mounting pleasure that he knows is getting so close to its crest. “Please, Thor-- gods, Thor. I _need_ it. I need you to--”

“Come for me, brother,” Thor growls, and the sudden burst of electricity has Loki’s eyes rolling back, lights up every nerve and rips a feral cry from his throat as he arcs and spasms and spends in what little space remains between them, coating their bellies, the smell of ozone thick in his nostrils.

Thor all but roars, biting down hard on the meat of Loki’s shoulder as he thrusts a few more times and finds his own release, and though Loki’s entire body already so heated with their mating, with the blazing fire of the afterglow, he can still dazedly feel the searing heat of Thor’s spend inside him, and oh… _ohh_...

“You’ve ruined me,” Loki pants with a voice wrecked, feeling his limbs trembling with aftershocks, and Thor gasps wetly against his bruised skin in response. “You’ve well and truly ruined me for anyone else.” It’s half a joke. But it’s also entirely true.

Thor manages to give a weak laugh as he lets Loki’s trembling legs slide down off his shoulders, collapses onto his forearms and covers Loki with his body without pulling out of him, their sweat sticking them together. He looks down fondly before closing his eye and resting their foreheads together. “You’re a fool, Loki,” he mumbles with no small amount of humour, then drops his head so he can nuzzle it into the crook of Loki’s neck-- evidently his new favourite place.

“Mmm?” questions Loki, shifting and feeling the delicious ache in his thighs, and when he experimentally clenches, he can confirm that Thor is still hard inside him, and _oh_ , yes, this is going to be a long and interesting night. Loki feels well-fucked and shaky, but he clenches again and that rouses a low moan from Thor, and then they’re kissing again, sweet and open-mouthed and full of unspoken promise.

A minute goes by and Loki thinks perhaps Thor has forgotten his question, but then he pulls away with a happy sigh and says, “We’ve always been ruined for everyone else. This was just a formality.” 

He nuzzles his nose against Loki’s before kissing him again-- gentle and soft this time, just a tender press of lips. “I was ever meant for you, Loki,” He says simply, pulling back so they can see each other. “I may mourn, but I can never regret all that has transpired, if it served to bring us to this place.”

Loki finds again he has no words. He can hear the gentle sounds of the bath, can hear Thor’s heart still beating hard and fast, feel the warm tile beneath him. Can smell their mingled arousal and sweat and spend beneath the lingering scent of ozone, and traces of citrus and herbs. Is hyper-aware of everywhere Thor’s heated, slick body touches and surrounds and wonderfully penetrates his. Feels something in him crumble beneath Thor’s beautiful, blue gaze fixed on him in the dim, golden light. 

“It’s okay,” Thor tells him, and reaches up to wipe away a tear Loki hadn’t even realized was there. “I’m here, brother.”

“Yes,” Loki murmurs. “Yes, it would appear you are.”

xx


End file.
